


The Vixen

by Ernmark (M_Moonshade)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Juno has dependence issues, M/M, Peter poses as a stripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 14:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/Ernmark
Summary: After breaking up with a good friend and getting kicked out of the HCPD, Juno tries to drown his troubles in the overpriced drinks and beautiful people of Valles Vicky's Vixen Valley... where he meets a thief posing as an entertainer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of the many fics created from writing prompts. In this case, Jellyfishpikachu requested: "Could you maybe do a Jupeter AU where Peter is posing as an "entertainer" at Valles Vicky's, and that's how he and Juno first meet?"
> 
> I realize that emotional manipulation and initiating a relationship under false pretenses is pretty much the premise of Murderous Mask, but I feel the need to reiterate: just because it works in fiction doesn't mean you should let someone treat you that way in real life. 
> 
> Love yourselves, ducklings, and be safe.

Okay, so my best friend since we were four isn’t taking my calls. That’s fine. Who needs her? Hell, she was probably holding me back anyway. Her and Mick, both– and why the hell did he take her side in this, anyway? Whatever happened to being neutral? But no, he’s got to be all morally superior, like he has any room to talk.

Who needs them? Not me. I don’t need anyone. 

My internal seething is interrupted by a voice like honey. “You look like you could use a refill.” 

I look up from the table and into the brightest eyes I’ve ever seen, and not just because the irises are a dazzling silver.

It takes me a second to collect myself– all of Vicky’s Vixens are a bit of a shock to the system, but I’m instantly drawn to this one. He’s wearing more clothes than most of the Reynards, though all of it combined probably covers less area than my hat, all of it metallic. It’s really hard to keep looking him in the eye when his nether regions keep catching the light and glinting at me like a freshly-polished laser. So I don’t.

“I could stand to have another.” I at least have the decency to look him in the eyes when I’m talking to him. I’m not a complete creep. 

He grins and reaches over me, his bare chest brushing my shoulder and ruffling my hair as he takes the glass. I don’t know what kind of scent he’s wearing, but it’s more subtle than anything I’m used to from the other dancers. It’s incredible.

He comes back with a gin and tonic, but he doesn’t hand it to me right away. Instead he swirls it in his hand, looking like he might take a sip himself. 

Looking at the quirk of his lips, the long, fine throat, I’m suddenly finding that I wouldn’t mind watching him drink in the slightest. 

“It’s Juno, isn’t it?” he asks, leaning against the table. His thigh is inches from my hand. “They tell me you’re a regular around here.” 

“Something like that,” I say. “I haven’t seen you before, though. What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Around here, they call me Silver.” 

His outfit definitely reflects that– along with every light in the room. His bare skin is adorned with a tasteful amount of glitter; even his eyes are an ethereal, metallic silver, though I hope that’s just from contact lenses.

Goddamn, he’s beautiful. 

But I try to keep my head. “A bit young to be a silver fox, don’t you think? You can’t be much older than I am.” Maybe twenty-five, tops.

“ _Can’t I?_ ” He leans in, almost daring me to kiss him. I know better, though. I do. It’s one of the first rules of these kinds of establishments: don’t touch the dancers, no matter how much you want to. 

Instead I focus on the details of his face. He’s long, lean, lithe. His makeup is expertly applied– just enough to stand out in the dim light of the club, but not overwhelming. Even the glitter looks elegant and refined, and that’s damn hard to do. There are no obvious lines on his face, no marks whatsoever besides the slight indentations on his nose where glasses usually sit. 

He grins again, and I get a flash of sharp, vulpine teeth. 

God _damn_. 

“Perhaps you should take a drink.” A cold glass is pressed into my hands. He holds it in place long enough for me to get a grip on it– otherwise it would probably be shattered on the floor right now. His fingers brush mine as he finally lets go of the glass. “You look _thirsty_.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juno realizes he's in too deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> briwhosaysni asked:  
> Hello! I would love to see a continuation of Peter posing as a vixen, if you're up for it.

This is starting to be a problem.

My trips to the Valley are starting to look less like stress relief and more like a habit, and it’s a habit that’s bleeding me dry. The cover charge alone is a hit to my wallet, the drinks even more. 

And then there’s Silver.

On nights when Silver’s not on the floor, I get restless. The other Vixens are gorgeous, sure, but they don’t capture my attention the way he does– not anymore. I always leave early on those nights, and always unsatisfied.

On nights when Silver’s working, I’m powerless. I’ll pay anything he wants for a chance to get close to him. I buy dance after dance, just to revel in the feeling of his skin barely against mine. Every minute in between is filled with conversation, until the Valley closes for the night and I’m coaxed outside. 

Despite all that, I still come home feeling unsatisfied. It was barely a twinge at first, but it’s been getting worse lately. The whole appeal of the Vixens is that at the end of the night I get to go home alone and they stay behind. It’s all the fun of romance with none of the strings attached. Not even if I want them.

Because I don’t want to go home alone anymore. Not just for sex– though I’m not about to deny there are enough fantasies to keep me busy for years– but because I want to get to know this man. I want to see the color of his eyes underneath those metallic contacts. I want to wake up beside him and make him breakfast in the morning. I want to watch awful movies together and take care of him when he’s sick.

And I know that’s getting dangerously close to a line that should not be crossed. I know that those are all just fantasies, and those are fine… sort of. Just as long as I don’t start believing my own delusions. Just as long as I don’t act on them. 

Because some of the Valley’s clients do. Silver’s told me stories of stalkers and scum, the kind of people who think that because they paid for a dance they’re entitled to the whole package. That’s what the bouncers are for, Silver assures me. Valles Vicky would never let anything happen to her employees. It doesn’t keep my blood from boiling over.

Silver chuckles– a warm, velvety sound that blunts some of the edges on my anger. “You know, you’re very handsome when you’re like this.”

And yeah, that hits me from right out of left field. My mind is still wrapped around the idea of some perverted bastard harassing Silver or Todd or one of the younger, more inexperienced dancers like Pup or Kit, and my fury is making it hard to think straight. “Like what?”

“Morally outraged.” And he slides right up to me, one hand on my neck. His bare chest glides against my arm. His slender fingers trace the edge of my collar. “Look at him, standing up against the big, mean world…”

He’s so close that all I can smell is him, and it’s intoxicating. Instinctively I lean in, but I manage to stop there. Those are the rules of the Valley: he can touch me, but I can’t touch back. And I want so badly to touch him right now. To pull him close. To hold him. To kiss him.

But I can’t– not without getting thrown out of the Valley by the same bouncers he just described. The thought raises an uncomfortable question: is that why he brought it up? Is this whole story a sly way to warn me off before things get out of hand?

Before _I_ get out of hand?

Because I would never do that. Ever. I’m not that kind of guy. I respect the Valley’s rules– and more important than that, I respect Silver’s boundaries. I can control myself. I can keep it together.

At least, until another night, weeks later, when the drink is strong and the music is captivating and Silver is just _so damn beautiful_. And while Silver’s gyrating on my lap, I stop thinking. I lean forward, just slightly. And when Silver rises from one of his more athletic moves, I catch him in a kiss.

For a single, electric moment, it’s perfect.

And then I realize what I’ve done.

Silver pulls away and playfully flicks me on the nose.

“Ah ah ah, Detective,” he scolds with a smile. “None of that. There are rules, you know.” He seems unperturbed, but that doesn’t silence my horror– because _of course_ Silver can’t look offended or upset. Not when he’s being _paid_ to smile like nothing’s wrong. 

Because this is a job for him. Just a way to make an honest living. And if he has any fond feeling for me whatsoever, then it’s just as a particularly friendly client.

And if he doesn’t… well, rent’s gotta come from somewhere, right?

The thought makes me sick to my stomach. 

“I… I need to go,” I say as soon as the dance is over.

Silver raises an eyebrow. “So soon? It’s barely midnight.”

“I know. I’ve just– I’ve got a big case I need to tackle tomorrow. I need to wake up early for it.” As if I’ve let that stop me once in the past two months.

“Sounds exciting,” Silver purrs. “You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“I will.” I dig through his wallet and set down another stack of bills– enough for another dance, at least. Maybe two “Thanks for tonight. It was… it was nice.”

As soon as I’m out of Silver’s line of sight, I take off, tearing past dozens of beautiful men and women who are hard at work paying their rent or their student loans or whatever the hell they do when they’re not here. Their giggles and smiles don’t actually mean they’re interested in their customers, any more than when those same smiles come from the waitress who serves me my cloned beef hash every morning. And I _know_ that. _I know that._

How the hell did I let myself forget?

* * *

I’m too drunk and too upset to drive safely, so I call a cab to take me home. The whole ride, I can feel the driver judging me from the front seat. No wonder why– I reek of liquor and Silver’s cologne.

“Listen,” the driver says. “If you gotta hurl, you sure as hell better tell me beforehand. It’s your ass if you mess up my car, you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear.” It’s not an unnecessary warning. I spend the whole drive wanting to puke.

When he gets back to his apartment, I dive straight into the shower. The water is cold and unpleasant on my skin; even more so after I scrub myself raw. I brush my teeth until my gums bleed and then soak them in mouthwash. It stings, but it doesn’t drown out the memory of soft lips on mine. All I can smell is soap, but when I drag my hands through my hair, they still come away with glitter under my nails.  

I go back to the Valley the next morning to pick up my car. I don’t go inside.

I don’t go back at all the next day, either. Or the next.

Or at all. 

* * *

My wallet thanks me for quitting the Valley. That’s a few hundred dollars I won’t be missing every day, and a few extra hours I can spend working every night. 

My liver isn’t nearly so grateful. See, I’ve learned that it’s a whole lot cheaper to drink from home. And without beautiful company or pleasant conversation to distract me, I get a whole lot more of it done.

Helps me sleep, though. And I’m getting used to waking up with a hangover. 

It’s better this way, I tell myself. I just need some time and distance, and I’ll be able to put my weirdly inappropriate feelings for Silver behind me.

At least, that’s the plan.

Right up until I find him standing at my apartment door. I’ve never seen him wearing so much clothing– between his long sleeves, gloves, and high collar, the only exposed skin is on his face. 

“Juno,” he sighs. “Thank god. I was worried this might be the wrong address.”

His eyes are a deep, rich brown. I didn’t think it was possible, but they’re even brighter without the contacts. And here I am, leaking morning breath from last night’s bender and looking like I went six rounds with a bulldozer.

“What the– what are you doing here?” I manage to stammer. “How did you even find me?”

“I found your address through your credit cards,” he admits. “It’s unprofessional, I know, but you’re a detective and I’m out of options and I’m in trouble, and–” He steps closer, and I realize there’s worry in those bright, beautiful eyes. “Please, Juno. Will you help me?”

As if the answer would ever be no.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's Juno to refuse a dancer in distress?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dykerose asked:  
> can I get a Vixen Peter sequel?  
> R0sebug asked:  
> HEY I LIVE FOR THE VIXEN VALLEY FIC I'M JUST GOING TO SAY THAT RIGHT NOW

The universe has a weird sense of humor, doesn’t it? Just when I’ve decided that I’m quitting Valles Vicky’s Vixen Valley and its most eye-catching entertainer, he comes right to my door.

He may be wearing practical clothes instead of body glitter or metallic contacts, but I know it’s him in a heartbeat. I’ve spent entirely too long gazing into those eyes to ever mistake them. But he probably doesn’t want anybody else recognizing him in the hallway of my apartment building. I step back from the door.

“Come on inside.” He steps past me, close enough that I can smell his cologne. It’s more subtle than the usual scents he wears at work, but its draw is magnetic. “Go ahead and sit down wherever.” 

Inwardly I’m dying. When’s the last time I actually cleaned up in here? I’ve got dirty laundry all over the place, dishes piled in the sink, red-ink collection notices sitting on top of piles of mail, empty bottles migrating away from the kitchen…

“Do you want something to drink?” I offer, already mentally sifting through my pantry. What do I actually have that isn’t stale or molding? “Water? Coffee? Gin?”

“Thank you, Juno. Coffee would be much appreciated.” He sounds sincere.

“Right.” I get to work brewing a pot and grab the cleanest mug that isn’t covered in outright obscenity. I bring him his drink quickly, before he has the chance to really appreciate the disaster area he’s just walked into. “So what seems to be troubling you, Silver?”

“Please,” he says, taking the mug from my hands. “It’s only Silver while I’m at work. My name is Gray. Gray Corsac.”

“Gray, then.” I pull up a dining room chair and sit across from him. “Same question.”

“I’ve been having a bit of trouble with a client at the Valley. He’s developed a bit of a fixation on me, and he doesn’t like taking no for an answer.” 

“You don’t say.” Maybe if I keep my voice stony enough, emotion won’t seep through. There’s a whole lot of it churning in my head right now. “I thought you had bouncers for that sort of thing.”

“Oh, we do. I imagine that’s why he’s been as civil as he has– at least, within the establishment. But a few nights ago, something went missing from inside my car while I was working. Later he approached me on my way out and… _suggested_ certain steps I could take to keep it from falling into the wrong hands.”

I’m supposed to be writing all of this down, but I can’t see straight anymore. The pencil is cracking in my hand. 

I manage to keep my voice steady. “This guy got a name?” 

“Toivo Gravil,” he says. “I tracked down his home address the same way I did yours. I’m afraid I don’t know where to go from here, though.” 

“That’s what I’m here for.” I’ll collect the specifics when my blood isn’t boiling. “Exactly what did he take from you?”

He hesitates. “Something… private. Something that could do me a lot of harm if it’s turned over to the wrong people.” 

“Listen, if you can’t tell me exact details, that’s fine. But I can’t help you get this thing back if I don’t know what I’m looking for. Is it bigger than a bread box?” 

More hesitation, but at least he’s willing to put it into words: “Smaller than that. It’s a memory card. He keeps it on his person.”

He looks more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him, and I get it. He’s trusting me with a lot here. I want to pull him close and hold him, but I get the feeling that wouldn’t help things right now.

“A memory card. Got it.” I jot it down and then close the notebook, just to telegraph that I’m done prying. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“I appreciate it.” He takes a long drink of his coffee, probably to mask the fact that he’s fidgeting with the mug. “So how does this work, exactly? Should I expect an invoice, or do you only take cash, or…?”

I’m not going to think too hard about what he thinks might fill in that blank.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.” 

“Are you sure?” 

I hate the way he’s looking at me right now. I have no idea what it took for him to come to me with this– how much he risked trusting another old client not to blackmail him the way Gravil did– especially when he knows that my feelings for him aren’t exactly professional. It kills me to know that I gave him another reason to feel unsafe.

“No,” I say too fast, before I have the chance to think about what I’m saying. “I mean, yes, I’m sure. It’s not like–” I stop talking and catch my breath for a moment before I keep babbling. “I don’t expect anything from you, okay? Anything. At all. Creeps like him are scum, and they need to be stopped. So yes, it’s on the house. Completely. No strings attached.” 

I don’t know if it’s something I said, or if it’s just how flustered I am as I said it, but he seems to relax a bit. 

“Thank you, Juno,” he says softly. “I don’t think you understand how much this means to me.”

* * *

Toivo Gravil isn’t an easy man to tail. He’s a high-ranking researcher at a high-end tech firm called HelixCorp, and his habit of taking his work home with him at the end of the day means that he’s invested in a lot of security.

I call in a favor or two with an old friend from the HCPD, though, and that stops being a problem. 

I catch him in a dark parking garage, when the security cameras have conveniently stopped functioning. 

I’d like to bury my fist in his gut a few dozen times, but I’ve been warned: the guy’s rich and powerful enough that the cops might actually give a shit about him. A whole lot more than they’d give about a stripper and the city’s least popular ex-cop. If it’s either of our words against his, Gray and will probably end up going away for a long time.

So I keep my revenge cold: a laser, set to stun and shot from the shadows. He never sees me coming. I find the memory card exactly where Gray said it was, and I get out of there before the cameras go back online. 

It doesn’t feel like enough– I can think of so many other ways Gravil might lash out after this– but Gray doesn’t seem to think so.

When I hand him the memory card, he throws his arms around me. And suddenly my senses are flooded with him: his voice in my ear, his warmth against me, his cologne all over me, his lips pressed to my cheek.

“Thank you, Juno,” he murmurs into my ear. 

Instinctively I want to return the hug, deepen the kiss. Habit, though, warns me not to touch him. Reason is caught up in a tangled mess of yes/maybe/no/maybe/yes.  Is this an invitation? Permission? I don’t know. I should ask, but that might make him uncomfortable, and then he’d stop. Is that taking advantage? Is it being polite? Am I not picking up on whatever signal he’s sending?

It takes all my faculties to string together a shaky “no problem.” 

* * *

Even if I won’t let him pay me, Gray insists on taking me out for coffee. I forget what I ordered even while I’m drinking it– my mind is racing trying to keep up with the conversation without looking like a complete idiot. There’s nothing provocative about his clothes or his body language, but when he touches my hand, my brain shorts out entirely. It’s such a casual touch, friendly and trusting and intimate in ways that the lap dances never were. 

I carry on the conversation as well as I can without letting it show. I may be out of my mind in love with him, but that’s my problem to deal with, not his. 

He picks up the tab; I leave him my number. 

“In case you have anything else you need help with. Just give me a call.” 

Our fingers brush as he takes the scrap of napkin from me. It’s all I can think about for the rest of the day.

* * *

Gray calls me back a few weeks later; another client has started stalking him outside of work. The bouncers at the Valley are enough to keep him safe at work, but they’re not much good to him when he’s at home. 

Fortunately, Gray knows the guy’s name. It doesn’t take me much to track down the scumbag and leave an impression on him. He doesn’t bother Gray again. 

* * *

My crush is past the point of being unhealthy. I know it. I should do something about it. I should stop seeing him.

I still pick up the comms every time he calls me. I’ll be the one person he can rely on. I’ll be there for him. I’ll save him from anything.


	4. Interlude (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of intimacy, or: the moment when Juno and Peter both realize they're in over their heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's explicit. It's also entirely skippable.

I’m starting to think I can’t do anything much of anything without it becoming a habit. A few visits to the Valley, and I might as well have started keeping a toothbrush there. Gray Corsac asks me for a favor, and I’m practically his new bodyguard. Barely a week goes by when I don’t see him– either he’s telling me about his latest stalker, or he’s paying me back with coffee or dinner, or, more frequently, with a bottle of top-shelf whiskey for us to share at my place. 

Not that I’m complaining– for the first time since I got fired by the HCPD, I’ve got incentive to keep my place clean and take regular showers. Even my fridge is stocked, just in case he gets hungry. As far as I’m concerned, this is a good habit to have fallen into. But it’s still a habit, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed.

We’re at my apartment, halfway through a bottle, when Gray brings it up.

“You do so much for me, Juno,” he says, tracing a finger around the edge of his glass. “I can’t help but wonder exactly what it is you want from me.”

The answer is instant and decisive. “I told you, it’s on the house. I’m not asking for anything.”

“No,” he hums. “But what if I’m the one asking?” 

I swallow, at a loss. “I… Is there something you want?”

I know without saying: I’d give him anything he asked for. Anything. He sets down the glass, and in a second he’s impossibly close. All I can breathe is him. I want to touch him, but my hands hover a few inches away from his chest, kept in place by habit and inhibition. 

His eyes flick down to my hands, still hanging in the air, and he smiles. “You’re still playing by the Valley’s rules?” 

“I’ll play by whatever rules you give me.” 

He chuckles and leans closer still. His cheek brushes mine. His lips brush my ear. “And if I asked you to blow me?” 

He says it playfully. Maybe this is a game to him– maybe this has all been one big game. But it’s one I’ve already agreed to play. So I make my move.

I sink to my knees, careful not to brush against him on my way down. I keep eye contact the whole time, inviting him to stop me, almost daring him to do it. He doesn’t, but his breath catches when I start to nose against his groin. I can feel him rising through his slacks, growing harder. 

His voice has gone hoarse. “Take me out, Juno.” 

I hurry to obey, freeing his cock and letting it hang there for a moment, long and stiff and slender, before I drag my tongue along its length. 

I memorize the taste of him. The smell of him. The hitches in his breathing as I pull him into my mouth and swallow him down. 

“Juno–” His breath is ragged. His hands tangle in my hair, and a burst of fear strikes through me. Am I doing it wrong? Does he want me to stop? 

But he pulls me closer and I nearly choke. My nose is buried in dark hair. My eyes are watering as he pushes the limits of my gag reflex. He tightens his grip on my scalp, his fingers coiling in my hair just hard enough for a dizzying jolt of pleasure-pain. I’m not sure when I started moaning, but I am, wordlessly begging him for more, and he seems to understand perfectly. He pulls back, almost leaving me entirely, and then his hips snap forward and he’s ramming into my soft palate, over and over again, until he pulls back just enough to fill my mouth with come. 

He looks down at me as he puts himself away. He’s breathing hard, his hair is disheveled, his face is flushed, but somehow he still looks elegant and in control. Moved, but not shaken. 

Meanwhile I’m on the floor at his feet, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes, my nose running, his come drying on my chin. 

He smiles. “Did you enjoy that, Juno?”

I’m still gasping, but I still manage to pant out a “god, yes.”

“Are you hard for me?”

My eyes roll back and I nod eagerly. I’m so hard it hurts. 

“Show me, then,” he purrs. “Show me how hard you are.”

Still caught in his spell, I can’t do anything but obey. In seconds I have myself in hand. My cock is aching at the touch. I need more. Oh god, I need more.

“Now finish yourself off for me, Juno.” His voice is like black velvet against my senses. “I want to see you come.” 

It’s one of the most intense orgasms of my life, and I fall back onto my hands, too wrecked to sit up any longer. 

“Gray,” I pant. My throat is raw and sore, but I can still form his name. “God, Gray…” 

He crouches over me, leaning in just enough to tuck my length back in and zip up my pants. He reaches to cup my face, his thumb wiping the streak of come off my lips. I shut my eyes, leaning into the touch.

“Peter,” he murmurs. “When we’re alone, call me Peter.”

When I open my eyes again, he’s gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alecjmarsh asked:  
> I shrieked when I saw the new vixen fic, but the whole thing is giving me a bad feeling. Those men coming after Peter can't all be Valle's clients, can they? What is Peter involved in? Is Juno in danger? How attached will Juno get before he is betrayed? ( I know you're closed for prompts so you don't need to answer but I'm WORRIED and INVESTED and you need to know )

One of the first things Mag taught me, one of the real first rules of thieving, was a sidewalk shell game. A simple marble, a trio of identical cups, and a bit of sleight of hand. He didn’t teach me with the intention that I would ever use it– a thief of Mag’s caliber would never lower himself to such a crass scam– but because of the principle behind it. No matter how many times the cups are switched around, you always have to know which one holds the marble. Never go so fast that you lose track of the pieces in play. Never get so caught up in the game that you fall for your own con. 

I wonder what Mag would think of me now?

But I haven’t. I’m getting dangerously close to a tipping point, but I haven’t reached it yet. If trouble arises, I can always disappear. I can leave Juno Steel behind at any time.

I just don’t want to, that’s all. And maybe I won’t have to. Maybe I’ll take him with me, once I’m done with Mars and Hyperion City. He could be quite handy to have around, after all. I’ve seen firsthand what he’s willing to do for me. He’s a unique asset– muscle with enough brains to be a detective, but one who won’t ask any inconvenient questions. Besides, it might be nice not to have to travel alone for a while. It’s been too long since I’ve had a partner in crime.  

My darling detective, touch-starved and smitten– I’m sure he would join me if I asked him. Maybe not at first, but after a little persuasion.

After all, I’ve become quite the expert in that field.

* * *

The call comes from one of the secretaries at the HCPD. She’s an odd one, but she’s nice– and more importantly, she’s one of the only people on the force who doesn’t have it out for me.

That’s why she calls ahead to warn me. There’s been a string of robberies; the victims can’t give a good description of their attacker, but what bits and pieces they can string together match my description. Rita worries that there’s enough bad blood between me and my old precinct that somebody might try to pin it on me, just out of spite.

Thing is, they wouldn’t have to.

Because there’s something that sets these thieves apart from your average robber. 

It’s always the same: the victim is yanked into a dark alley and beaten within an inch of their lives. But where another mugger might take their wallet or their keys or their jewelry, this one just walks away and leaves them bleeding.

Meanwhile, his accomplice is raiding the victim’s house for more valuable assets, stealing priceless artifacts and top-secret files and key cards to more lucrative locations. But the vic doesn’t notice– usually they’re so distraught from the mugging and the first police report that it takes them days to catch on. Weeks, in some cases. That’s why it’s taken so long for the police to realize the incidents are all related. 

They all follow that pattern– all but one. A top-tier researcher working for HelixCorp. He had a set of files and prototypes stolen from a safe in his office, but the files were encrypted to hell and back again. They were useless without the decryption key, and he carried that on his person at all times in a convenient little memory card.

And then I stunned him, took the card off his unconscious body, and handed it over to Peter– Gray– whoever he is– without a second thought beyond that smile and those bright, beautiful eyes. 

He’s a thief. He’s been using me all this time.

I think I’m supposed to feel shocked or betrayed or something like that, but I don’t.

It feels a whole lot more like the other shoe just dropped. Sure, I was under it when it hit the pavement, but that’s my own damn fault for not getting out of the way when I saw it coming.

Count on Juno Steel to walk right into a trap and think he’s catching a break, right?

God, I’m an idiot.

When he– Silver, Gray, Peter, whoever he is– the next time he calls me, I don’t pick up the comms. When he stops by my place, I pretend I’m not home. I’m actually not home at least once when he comes by, but when I get back home I find a bottle of scotch on my table and miniscule scratches on my lock where it’s been picked.

I should probably do something about this. Deadbolt my windows and install a chain on the door. Turn him in, or at least give his number to the cops. If nothing else, it’ll make him leave me alone.

I should.

I don’t.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter never expected it to happen this way.

Something’s happened.

It doesn’t take any sort of great cognitive leap to reach that conclusion. Juno isn’t taking my calls. He’s not answering the door when I know he’s inside.

He knows. That much I’m certain of, but I’m less sure about how much he’s learned. Enough, I’m sure. He’s a detective, after all.

I should have seen this coming. I should cut my losses now and run before things get dangerous. It’s the only practical way to proceed. 

Instead I break into his apartment when he’s at work. I search the place, but if he has files on me, he doesn’t keep them at home. After more than an hour looking, I’ve found only one thing that surprised me: on a shelf in his bedroom is a row of liquor bottles. They’re good-looking bottles– all of them shapely and well-crafted, meant to make their contents recognizable from across a room. I certainly recognize them at a glance.

On that shelf stands every single bottle we’ve shared. 

I remember that bottle of gin, poured over ice into a pair of tumblers. We sat so close to each other that our legs brushed when I leaned forward, and each time Juno would lose track of what he was saying.

That bourbon, passed back and forth and drunk straight from the bottle. Juno said whiskey that good needed to be savored. His lips always lingered on the bottle a moment too long. It wasn’t just the alcohol that left my mouth dry.

The vodka, too strong by half, that left me dizzy and giddy. Most of that night is a blur, but I remember stumbling when I tried to kiss him. I remember the look on his face when he tugged the bottle out of my hands and told me I’d had enough. The bottle wasn’t empty when he helped me into the cab that night, but it is now. I wonder when he finished it.

When I abandon my search of Juno’s apartment, I leave a bottle of scotch on his table. 

* * *

Disappearing has long been a talent of mine, and one of which I’m quite proud. But being ignored is something else entirely. 

So when Juno continues to refuse my calls, I take matters into my own hands and break into his apartment again when Juno isn’t home. It’s easier than I expected– given the scotch I left behind during my last visit, I would have expected him at least to change the locks. The fact that he didn’t leaves me hopeful. 

I wait around until I spot him returning home through the window, and then I turn off the lights and arrange myself on his couch. For all my projected confidence, I can’t deny I’m a bit nervous. If by some bizarre miracle he didn’t put realize who I am, he’ll know for sure by the end of the night. 

As it turns out, that line of thinking is unnecessary. 

Juno turns on the lights and looks right into my eyes. He’s startled, but unsurprised. 

“Hello, Juno. It’s been a while.”

Slowly he shuts the door behind him. “Peter.”

“I tried to call ahead, but it seems you aren’t taking my calls.”

“Seems like you aren’t taking the hint.” He takes off his coat and throws it on the hook by the door.

“What can I say?” I rise from the sofa. “I was never much for subtlety.”

That is, admittedly, a lie– I’m more than aware of the art of nuance. All the time we’ve spent together, I’ve made note of the little details that draw Juno’s eyes. Right now I’m wearing all of them, carefully arranged for a single dramatic effect.

Considering he starts blinking rapidly and then averts his eyes, it’s working. 

“If there’s something you want to say to me, Juno, I would prefer if you’d be direct.”

“You want direct?” he mutters, advancing on me. “You’re a thief and a con, and I’m done being your mark.” 

“Duly noted,” I say calmly. It occurs to me that he’s standing between me and the door. Presumably he intends to keep me from leaving before the authorities arrive or something silly like that. It’s adorable, really. 

“There’s just one thing I want to know,” he demands, and I’m already filling in his question in my mind.  _Was he the only one? Was any of it real?_ Charming, vulnerable questions that just beg for me to glide in and sweep him off his feet. “Is the whole Valley in on this, or are you working on your own?” 

Ah, opting for the professional instead. 

“No, Juno, I work alone. With the obvious exception, of course.” I lean in, close enough that I can taste stale alcohol on his breath. He hasn’t been taking care of himself, but that’s alright. I’ll take good care of him. 

He tenses– but then, he always does that when I get close, caught up in the eternal struggle between wanting to reach out to me and knowing he shouldn’t. We’ve been caught up in this little dance for so long. I know exactly how to help him relax.

I cup his cheek. “Only, you, Juno. There was only ever you.”  A slight shift of my hand and I can tug him close, and all that tension will drain away and he’ll melt into my arms.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice hisses through gritted teeth. His shoulders are hunched almost protectively around his neck. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. 

But for all that, he doesn’t look angry. He looks like he’s in pain.

The realization startles me. “Are you alright?”

“I said _get your hands off me_.” His voice is so raw that I stumble back, and all thoughts of seduction fall out of my head. “You and I are done, do you understand me? I’m done being your lackey.” He bears down on me, and I back away. “I want you out that door, and I want you to stay out. No more phone calls. No more sneaking into my apartment. No more booze. You’re going to walk away, and I’m never going to see you again.” 

The floor changes under my feet, and I realize abruptly that I’m standing in the hall. 

“Is that direct enough for you?” 

I don’t get a chance to answer before the door slams shut between us. 

It takes me several long seconds before I can move. I’m shocked into silence, staring at the syth-wood of the door where his face was just moments ago.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I had it all planned. I knew exactly how it was supposed to turn out. And even if I was wrong, it wasn’t supposed to matter. He wasn’t supposed to matter. I could walk away from him at any time.

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I 100% acknowledge that in real life, stalking is terrifying and not romantic in the slightest. Once again, ducklings, don't put up with that shit in real life.
> 
> Like the part about flying cars and a city on Mars, that part of this story is pure fiction.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's one way to make sure you have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:  
> Can I please have a vixen Peter sequel

I’ve had some pretty bad hangovers, but they’ve been nothing like this. I squint against the light that hits my eyes, but it doesn’t hurt like it usually does. My vision is swimming– usually that stops by the time I pass out– and I usually don’t get as nauseous as I am right now.

The ceiling over my head is too close, all neutral tones painted over riveted alloy plates. 

This isn’t any bar I’ve ever been to, and it isn’t my apartment or my office. And I… I distinctly remember drinking at home. A bottle of bottom-shelf rotgut I had stashed under the sink. And sure, it tasted kind of funny, but that comes with the territory of “bottom-shelf rotgut I had stashed under the sink”.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

I try to sit up, and my vision sloshes again. My thoughts are slow, but I can rub enough brain cells together to draw a conclusion: I’ve been drugged. 

I’m too busy trying to figure out which way is up to notice the other person sharing the cramped berth with me until he speaks. “Oh, good. You’re awake. I was starting to worry.”

Peter.

I whirl to face him, and it feels like the inside of my head decided to keep spinning without me. I think I’m gonna throw up, but I manage a glare. “Where– where the hell am I?”

He looks down at a tablet in his hand. “We are… passing through the Solar asteroid belt at the moment, from the looks of things.”

“The as–” Oh god. I’m on a spaceship. “How the hell did I get here?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Peter admits. “You’re heavier than you look, Juno, but I can be quite resourceful when I need to be.” 

It’s a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one, but it tells me enough. “You kidnapped me.” Which means… “You _drugged_ and _kidnapped_ me.” 

“I _rescued_ you,” he says, like this whole goddamn thing is just a matter of semantics. “I take it you’ve never read _A Tale of Two Cities_?”

“ _What?_ ” 

He waves me off. “Never mind, it’s ancient literature. These journeys get rather dull if you don’t bring reading material.”

Right now I have half a mind to slug him, but I’m pretty sure I’d miss. “We’re getting off the topic that _you drugged and kidnapped me_.” 

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he says– no, _whines_. He _abducted_ me, and he’s got the nerve to _whine_ about it. “The police were closing in. If I waited much longer, they would have caught you. I wasn’t about to let you rot in prison.” 

“Are you serious?” I’m practically shrieking. “Fleeing the planet just makes me look guilty!”

“But you _are_ guilty,” he points out.

“That was entrapment and you know it.”

“That’s what I said, but the officers didn’t seem to care. In fact, they didn’t seem particularly interested in whether you were actually involved at all.” He sniffs indignantly. “I can see why you quit the force. You’re in better company without them.”

“I didn’t quit,” I mutter under my breath, but my mind is elsewhere, and I’m still too foggy to multitask. “If you actually wanted to help me, you wouldn’t have drugged me to do it.” 

“You were fairly clear about not wanting to see me again. I didn’t think you’d actually listen if I tried to reason with you. You might have turned yourself in, just to spite me.”

I huff. “Come on. Like I’m that petty.” I am, and I know it. And judging by the look Peter gives me, so does he. “Why do you give a damn what happens to me, anyway? I’m nothing but your fall guy, aren’t I? That’s all I ever was to you.”

His expression softens. “Oh, Juno…” And he reaches for me.

And that’s the last straw, more than the drugging or the kidnapping or the fact that he fucking dragged me into this mess in the first place. There’s plenty of time to be pissed about that later. But after all of that, he still thinks he can just bat those pretty eyes at me and I’ll be putty in his hands again? How goddamn pathetic does he think I am?

I slap his hand away before he can touch me. “Don’t even start. I’ve had enough of your lies.”

“Alright.” He sits back, putting more distance between the two of us. “Then turn me in, if you don’t trust me.” 

I glare, but my head is still too foggy to process it. “What?”

“Turn me in if you don’t trust me. ” He’s completely calm and composed. “There’s a marshal on this ship with the authority and equipment to detain me. It isn’t as though there’s anywhere for me to run. I’m at your mercy, Juno. Do with me what you like.”

I swallow. There are a few dozen things I’d like to do to Peter, and handing him over to the authorities is pretty low on that list. I’m pretty sure Peter knows that.

Lacking a snappy comeback, I drag himself out of the berth and stomp away. Peter doesn’t try to follow me.

* * *

I wander the public halls of the ship, feeling lost on more than a few levels. This is all actually kind of new to me, beyond the drugged-and-kidnapped bit. I’ve  never been on a spaceship before. I mean, I’ve considered buying a ticket and leaving Mars for good, but I could never quite justify it in my head. Where would I go? Why would it be any better out there than in Hyperion City?

Technically now I have the chance to find out. It’s either that or go back and spend the rest of my life in prison over a grudge and a misunderstanding. It might not be all that bad, going out into the great big world and seeing it all firsthand. Maybe Peter might be able to recommend a few good places to start–

“Not going to happen,” I say aloud, and immediately I get shushed by the occupant of a nearby berth with its hatch still open. Frustrated, I keep moving. 

Peter’s a criminal. The last thing I need is to get even more involved with the likes of him. Shady morals aside, that’s a fast track to getting stabbed in the back.

But Peter tried to plead my case to the police, didn’t he?  Why the hell would he risk talking to the cops when they’re actively investigating him? Or did he do that at all? Did he make it all up? And if he did, how did he know about how much the cops hate me? It’s not the kind of thing I ever told him myself, after all. 

Dammit, I want to trust Peter. More than anything. But I can’t. I shouldn’t.

I keep walking.

* * *

It’s hard to keep track of the exact layout of the ship, but I try anyway. Most of its mass is taken up by passenger berths, some of them large enough to accommodate couples, like the one I woke up in, while others are only meant for a single occupant. They’re not big– long enough to lay down in, tall enough to sit up, and not much more than that. There are larger, more luxurious suites cordoned off to one side of the ship (the back, maybe? It’s hard to be sure), kept separate from the other spaces by a little public area that’s probably meant to resemble a park. At least, it’s painted green and there are a few potted ficuses scattered around. The park is mostly there to let passengers stretch their legs; most of the several-day trip is meant to be spent sleeping or reading or watching the in-flight entertainment.

Which would be fine if I wasn’t trying to avoid my bunkmate. 

I can only make so many laps around the ship before I take a wrong turn and wind up in front of the berth I woke up in. Peter’s still inside, reading something off a tablet and sprawled across the small space in a pose that shouldn’t be nearly so sexy. 

He looks up with a bright-eyed smile that has quite literally brought me to my knees. 

“Ah, Juno,” he says warmly. “Did you enjoy your walk?” He glances over my shoulder. “I see that the marshal hasn’t come for me yet.”

“Not yet they haven’t,” I mutter under my breath. 

But Peter just beams at me. “I take it you aren’t planning to turn me in, then?”

“Maybe I’m still making up my mind.” 

Peter’s smile turns indulgent. “Come now. You won’t be stuck on this spaceship forever, Juno. Once we dock on Europa, you’re free to go anywhere you like. To the Outer Rim, back to Mars– or perhaps somewhere else entirely.”

I keep my mouth clamped shut. Nevermind that I was just thinking the same thing. It’s not going to happen. 

It doesn’t help things in the slightest when Peter puts down the tablet and comes crawling toward me on hands and knees in the narrow berth. It paints a picture that I really, really didn’t need in my head.

“We could go together, you and I. We can sell the loot and live a life of thrills and decadence across the galaxy, always running, never looking back. We could have quite a time together, Juno. Who knows what kind of trouble we could cause?”

I almost bite through my lip trying to remind myself that I’m not interested. Because it does sound like an adventure. Like everything I could possibly want. Only I’m not supposed to want something like that with someone like him. 

“I should turn you in.”

“And yet you haven’t.”

No, I haven’t. And I already know I’m not going to.

I turn around and walk away.

* * *

It’s been hours.

My comms isn’t good for much right about now, but at least the clock still works. Unfortunately, all it’s showing is how very slow time can move. 

I won’t go back to the berth– not when Peter’s still in there– so instead I walk laps around the ship. Just endless walking, round and round and round.

No wonder I never hear much about space travel. It’s _really_ boring. 

When my legs get tired and my feet hurt, I slump down in the park and checks my comms again.

Six hours down. Just… sixty-two left to go.

Goddammit.

A shape steps between me and the nearest shrubbery. “Have you been enjoying your new exercise routine?” Peter asks.

Not this again. “Go away.” 

Peter just crouches beside me. “You can’t keep avoiding me forever, you know.”

“Doesn’t have to be forever. We’ll be docking in a few days. I can hold out that long.”

“Can you?” He sounds concerned. “The body needs sleep, Juno. And the flight attendants aren’t about to let you nap out here.” 

‘The body needs sleep’? Sounds like a challenge. “Watch me.”

“Then take the berth now. I’ll wait out here if you want; you can lock it from the inside. All I ask is that you talk to me.” 

I’m about to point out that we’re talking right now, but that might just invite more of a conversation. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You–” He stops himself abruptly. When he continues, his voice is lower. “No, you don’t.” 

It’s about goddamn time he figured that out. “You lied to me, you used me, you drugged me, you kidnapped me, you let me think–” I clamp my mouth shut before I say something I’d regret. He let me think he could love me. “There is absolutely no reason why I should want you in my life.” 

I throw myself off the bench and stumble to my feet. My legs feel like jelly and I stagger, but I keep marching because I can’t take this anymore. I’ve just had too much. It needs to stop now.

“Then what _do_ you want, Juno?” Peter calls after me.

“I should–”

“I’m not asking you what you should do or think or feel. I’m asking you what you want.” 

I don’t turn to face him. I can’t, because he’ll see it in my eyes.

I want to be his. I don’t care if that means being his muscle or his fall guy or his side piece or whatever. I want him, and I hate myself for it.

“I…” I scrub a hand down my face. “I’d really like to lay down right now.” 

“Alright, Juno.” His voice is soft. “I hope you sleep well.” 

I don’t need help finding the berth– not after all the times I’ve rerouted my pacing to avoid it. After all that marching, it feels amazing just to lie down. 

I pull the hatch door shut after me. There’s a lock on the inside, just like he said. I can lock him out and avoid him for the rest of this trip.

I leave the door ajar.  

I don’t know whether I’m disappointed or relieved when I wake up alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the end?
> 
> Honestly, I'm not entirely sure.


End file.
